


put my hands up and surrender

by archiefour



Category: The Martian - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, the entire crew is fucked and they deserve love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 19:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14361942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archiefour/pseuds/archiefour
Summary: Beck watches the logs and tries to keep himself together.(he fails)





	put my hands up and surrender

**Author's Note:**

> the title's from white flag by Dido.

He was fucked. That was Beck’s thought as he sat at his NASA Issued desk in his NASA Issued room in the team’s NASA Issued living space. With the suggestion of at least six medical professionals, the Agency had decided that keeping them together was the best choice, at least for now. Even Watney stayed there sometimes, between extensive medical tests and different therapies. 

 

There had been various problems, though. Of course there had. Chris easily handled it when Lewis put her fist through a mirror in the first week back. They had all agreed not to tell NASA about that. Other effects of almost watching almost-family die on Mars and being unable to do anything include: nightmares, and flashbacks, clinging to said almost-family member. At Martinez’s request, Vogel had been teaching them German swear words to mumble under their breath and  _ not _ get yelled at by NASA. And Beck was slowly going insane.

 

Back on the Hermes, he had been able to keep Mark under his watch for whatever the equivalent of 24/7 was in space. Now, his crewmate was constantly at headquarters, getting poked and tested by NASA scientists to make sure he wasn’t dying from residual effects. It made Chris feel useless, which was possibly the worst feeling for him at that time. All six of them had PTSD and a NASA Issued psychiatrist to help them work through it. The best therapy, though, was being able to be close to each other when it got bad. Chris, though, needed things to do. He couldn’t work yet because the Agency was still working on clearing him and Mark’s care was out of his control now. He was desperate for something.

 

That was probably why he took the job of writing a paper on the effects of extensive exposure to space and Martian gravity. It seemed benign enough at the time. Beck hadn’t, however, considered the fact that he hadn’t been on Mars with Watney and the only way to monitor that progress was through the logs. Even that would have been fine. Except for the fact that Chris was in love with Mark and watching the damned things  _ physically _ hurt. Mark got more and more skinny as they went on, occasionally appearing hurt. There were also times where he looked like he’d given up on everything. He was nearing the point where Mark left the HAB and seeing that last log took Beck’s breath away.

 

Mark looked like a fucking  _ skeleton _ and that was the last straw for Chris. Simultaneously, he was glad that NASA had kept the logs from being released so he didn’t have to see them before this and angry - at himself, mostly - for the pressing guilt of being the one to declare Watney dead on the goddamned planet. He scrambled for his phone, hitting Mark’s contact and tensing as the loud ringing started. Chris just hoped that Watney was in between treatments or something.

 

“Beck? Hey, what’s wrong?” came Mark’s voice, quick. He’d picked up on the second ring.

 

Thank God for Mark Watney. “Nothing. It’s nothing, I’m fine. Just wanted to hear your voice,” he answered, though the waver in his voice was obviously enough to tip Mark off, since he heard a muffled yell of ‘Shut the fuck up, Beck needs me.’ Ah. A psych appointment. Chris almost regretted interrupting. Mark needed all the appointments he could get.

 

“Liar.” Mark’s voice was suddenly soft, quiet. Very unlike how he’d yelled at the shrink. “You don’t call me during the day unless something’s wrong.”

 

Beck regretted this. The crew tried to shield Watney from the majority of the clusterfuck that was PTSD. But he  _ needed _ Mark. “I’m looking at the logs,” he admitted after a beat of silence. “NASA wants me to write something for them about how your health fucked up thanks to Mars. So, I’m watching them. All of them.” 

 

A sharp inhalation. “God, those  _ assholes _ ,” Mark said, his voice laced with harsh anger. Watney was protective of all the crew, to say the least. He wanted to shield them from the reality of Mars. This was a direct violation of that wish.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Shut up, it’s not your fault.”

 

“Still. Get back to your therapy session.”

 

“Past that. Already left. Heading home. NASA can kiss my ass.”

 

Chris chuckled quietly. “You fucking idiot, Watney,” he muttered and rolled his eyes, even if Mark couldn’t see him. It was something he said a lot. It was more of an affectionate phrase now instead of a true insult. Mark hung up on him with a laugh. He loved hearing Mark’s laugh after Mars. It was rare.

 

Ten minutes later - NASA liked to keep them close - Mark walked into Beck’s dark office, flipping the lights on. Chris was on the couch, shaking, head in his hands. Watney made his steps heavier to alert his presence and sat down next to him, not touching. “Hey, doc,” he said softly. “Wanna tell me what’s up with you?” He wanted to rub Chris’s back even if it was just to do something with his hands. 

Mark didn’t have to initiate anything, though, because Beck was leaning into him, arms around his waist. He didn’t question it, barely dared to move until he put a hand in Beck’s hair and slowly began to stroke through it.

 

The hardest thing after the rescue was seeing how thin and weak Mark had gotten. He was deficient in almost every nutrient there was and could barely even walk. That scared Chris more than anything else. So, having to watch the slow progression of Mark  _ becoming _ that was utter hell for him. He took the advantage of Watney being here to run his hands along the man’s sides and stomach, feeling the weight he’d put on since then. It was a reassurance, something that he could cling to when the flashbacks came in full force. But Mark wouldn’t stay forever, no matter how much Chris wanted him to. They both had jobs and didn’t return his feelings. 

 

Because of that, Chris was more than a little surprised when Mark moved closer, tilting his chin up with a soft exhale. “You don’t have to grab me like you did in the MAV,” he teased lightly. Mark always teased him. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me trapped.”

 

Maybe it was the heat of the moment or the sincerity of Mark’s words or the soft, serious look in his eyes. Chris had no idea and he was pretty certain he would never know. All he knew was that he  _ had _ to kiss Mark Watney. So he did, a quick press of their lips. As he was pulling back, beginning to panic, Watney brought him back with one hand on his neck. “And I have you trapped, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic for the martian, so i'm still trying to get a feel for the characters


End file.
